


Cherry Styles

by vondrostes



Series: Canon-Compliant Jackrry [1]
Category: Dunkirk (2017), Dunkirk (2017) RPF, Harry Styles (Musician)
Genre: (well sort of), Anal Fingering, Casual Sex, Come Marking, Crossdressing, Feminine Harry, Feminine Harry Styles, Friends With Benefits, Harry Styles in a Dress, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 22:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14458824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vondrostes/pseuds/vondrostes
Summary: Harry surprises Jack after the BAFTAs.





	Cherry Styles

**Author's Note:**

> Very very NSFW & basically written for 2 reasons:
> 
> 1) The Glasgow Show - Harry in a kilt inspired me, what can I say?
> 
> 2) My display name in a Dunkirk group chat is cherry styles, the reason for this being a dream that I had where they introduced a new slurpee flavor at 7-11 named cherry styles.
> 
> And thus this fic was born.
> 
> Small shout out to the Lowden Ladies, many of whom I am quite friendly with on Twitter. *waving emoji*
> 
> Follow me on Twitter for more writing goodies: @vondrostes (personal) & @TerranAlleen (writing updates)

_Why didn’t you tell me you were in town? Had to see pictures of you at that party on twitter. Feel like a scandalised housewife finding out about an affair. :c_

_i sent a message in the groupchat ages ago… not my fault ye cant read_

_Not my fault you can’t speak English. You should come visit me after you’ve finished strutting your stuff on the red carpet. Tom & Fionn already stopped by yesterday._

_address???_

Jack had long since quit caring if he sounded like desperate in his private messages with Harry. It was a game he was used to now, even if he couldn’t make himself stop playing for the sake of his own dignity—which hadn’t been intact since the day he and Harry had met.

Jack plugged in the address Harry sent back into Google Maps to find that it was located in the heart of a secluded London suburb. Not exactly what he’d been expecting.

_ur gaff?_

_Show up & see for yourself._

Jack wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, and it had been a while—too long, actually—since he’d seen Harry. But he still had the BAFTAs to get through first.

The whole experience was a whirlwind taste of the fame he’d always hoped he’d experience, and he loved it, honestly. It wasn’t the sort of thing that he thought he’d ever get tired of, though he could see how parts of it might be inconvenient.

Particularly if you were on the same level as Harry Fucking Styles, which Jack had no real aspirations of reaching, even though he’d certainly reaped his own rewards a consequence of brushing up against Harry’s fame.

Jack found himself wondering absently in the cab on the way to the address Harry had provided him if they could do some other kinds of brushing up that evening. It _had_ been awhile.

The cabbie had seemed rather doubtful after mapping the address, but drove Jack there without question, only stopping to turn and give him a sceptical look as they reached a massive gate at the entrance to the neighbourhood, replete with a stable of security officers signalling for them to pull forward.

“What am I meant to tell them?” he asked.

Jack opened his mouth only to realise that he didn’t have an answer. “Erm, hang on,” he replied uncertainly, hoping that was actually an option and that they wouldn’t be turned away on the spot. Jack didn’t think his status as an actor in a major film was going to make much of an impact in this scenario.

Jack fumbled for his phone and hastily dialled Harry, praying for him to pick up quickly before the situation could devolve further. He could see a security officer already trending toward them, looking heavily suspicious.

“Please don’t tell me you’re lost,” Harry opened with a sigh.

“I’m not lost,” Jack replied. “But I am waiting outside this gate wondering what I’m supposed to say to get in.”

“Oh, sorry—hang on.”

Jack watched as one of the officers picked up a phone from inside the booth, responded to something, and then leaned out the door to wave the cabbie forward.

“See you in a bit,” Harry remarked cheerily as the car once again started to roll forward. He hung up before Jack could formulate a reply.

Jack sighed and slouched in his seat, wishing he couldn’t feel the cabbie’s eyes on him in the rear-view as they slowly navigated the winding streets lined with massive million-pound estates. Harry’s place—or at least, what Jack was guessing was his place—was located in what appeared to be a relatively new portion of the development. He could see a house still in the middle stages of construction just up the road.

Jack tipped the cabbie handsomely and got out of the car, striding up the walk to Harry’s front door with as much poise and confidence as one could muster when making a late-night visit for (presumably) sex. At least, that’s what Jack was hoping for, but with Harry, there was no guarantee of anything at all.

Harry had provided him with door codes and instructions to let himself in. Jack felt kind of weird about that, but it was better than standing on the stoop looking like a right arsehole in front of all the neighbours, he decided.

There was music playing when he stepped inside, something soft and sweet that he didn’t recognise, with a woman singing lowly, her voice melting from syllable to syllable in a way that was almost haunting. If it was meant to be mood music, Jack thought, he wasn’t sure it was setting the right one.

As he ventured further into the house—an absolutely cavernous place with vaulted ceilings and hanging lights in alternating hues—Jack could make out the faint traces of Harry’s voice joining the music. He followed the singing to its source, finding Harry stood behind his kitchen counter pouring two glasses of wine.

“Hope you didn’t drink too heavily at the show,” Harry said without lifting his eyes. He was clad in a black chiffon blouse, unbuttoned nearly to his sternum, and so sheer that Jack could see all of the tattoos on his chest and arms in stark detail underneath the fabric. There was a smattering of dark bruises spread across his throat and collarbone; Jack found himself wishing he’d been the one to put them there.

“Did you hear me come in?” Jack asked. He hadn’t been sure if he was meant to announce his presence or not, and decided in the end not to interrupt the atmosphere Harry had set.

Harry picked his phone up off the counter and waved it pointedly. “Twenty-first century,” he said before sliding a glass of wine across the bar for Jack to take. Jack noticed Harry’s fingernails were painted as he curled his hand around his own glass.

Jack lifted the drink to his lips and started to take a sip only to choke violently on the miniscule amount of liquid as Harry hopped up onto the bar, revealing miles and miles of leg for Jack to take in.

“Are you—is that a skirt?” Jack spluttered, coughing like mad to try and clear his lungs of the mouthful of wine he’d accidentally inhaled.

Harry clearly wasn’t impressed by his reaction. “If I expected anyone to be unsurprised to see a man in a skirt,” he said, lifting his own glass for a dainty sip, “I would’ve thought it’d be you.”

“A kilt is not a skirt,” Jack said adamantly.

“Semantics,” Harry replied as he smoothed a hand across the burgundy satin that was covering far too little of Harry’s thighs for Jack’s health.

“Did you shave?” Jack noted, hoping the question wasn’t insensitive in some way.

Harry shrugged. “Felt like I should.” He downed his wine quickly after that, and then poured himself another.

Jack was working through his more slowly, trying to keep his wits about him for as long as possible, though he knew now that the forecasted outcome of the night was inevitable.

“If you’re the one drawing comparisons to kilts,” he ventured, “does that mean you’ve employed traditional Scottish customs regarding undergarments?”

Harry grinned. “Maybe if you’re good you’ll have the chance to find out.”

Jack felt a flash of heat staining his cheeks and knew he looked a proper fool with a dopey smile plastered across his face. But he couldn’t be arsed to care. Not when Harry tucked his feet up under himself on the counter, giving Jack the briefest hint of shadow under his skirt as he spun around to face him.

“So how was it?” Harry asked, leaning forward to fill Jack’s half-empty glass, flashing a bit of black ink on his abdomen in the process.

“How was what?” Jack replied dumbly.

“The BAFTAs, you div. Or didn’t you go? I haven’t checked twitter yet; I wanted to hear about it first-hand.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t exactly the booty call Jack had expected, but it was oddly endearing how earnest Harry was in asking about Jack’s life since the last time they’d spent any time together; some months now. “Yeah, course I went.” He started loosening his tie, his hands itching for something to keep them occupied. He knew if left idle, they’d itch to touch Harry, instead, and they didn’t seem quite ready for that yet.

“And?”

“And it was good,” Jack replied simply, trying in vain to keep himself from beaming too hard. But Harry was smiling back at him, so Jack relaxed a little and continued. “Took a few selfies, found out there’s a group chat named after me, had a romping good time.”

“A group chat, eh?”

“Mhmm.” Jack had successfully unknotted his tie and summarily began the process of folding it up to set down on the bar. “The Lowden Ladies.”

“Sounds prestigious.”

“I’m practically on your level now,” Jack joked.

When he glanced up again, Harry was staring down at him with an expression of overwhelming softness. “You’re feeling all right, yeah?” He seemed genuinely concerned. “You looked a little….” Harry made an incomprehensible noise. “—before at the party. Did something happen?”

“I’ve been trying to quit smoking,” Jack admitted.

“Well, you know my opinion on that already, but don’t overexert yourself.”

Jack shrugged. “It’s a process.”

Without giving further thought to the action, letting pure instinct take over, Jack reached out and wrapped his hand around one of Harry’s ankles, letting his fingers cover the entirety of ‘dance again’. His toes were coated in the same red varnish as his fingernails, and his feet were as smooth as his legs. Jack couldn’t help but wonder how far Harry’s unexpected grooming extended.

Jack rubbed his fingers in gentle circles against the inside of Harry’s ankle, feeling inordinately pleased when the other man’s eyes drooped in vacant pleasure.

“Have we moved on to that portion of the night, then?” Harry asked dreamily.

“If you want.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered open. “And what do you want?”

Jack considered the question for a long moment, taking in the swaths of smooth creamy skin splayed out before him, adorned in red satin, like this date with him was worth getting dressed up—or down—for. “Something new,” he decided.

“New for you or new for me?”

Jack crooked an eyebrow. “Is anything new for you?” he asked seriously. “I already know about the threesome. Fionn and Tom were at the show too, you know.”

Harry laughed, but he was blushing as he came down from it. “Made that much of an impact, did it?”

“More than you know.”

“Were you jealous?” Harry asked, cocking his head to the side in transparent curiosity.

Jack leaned down to press a kiss to the arch of Harry’s foot. “Maybe,” he answered, brushing his lips lightly against the delicate skin, pleased when he felt the muscles twitching under his hand.

“Slow or fast?” Harry asked breathily as Jack started to ascend to Harry’s calf, leaving gentle kisses in his wake.

“Slow,” he said once he reached Harry’s knee, but the motion with which he seized Harry’s thighs to yank him closer to the edge of the bar was all haste. “Where’s your lube?” Jack asked, an idea starting to form in his mind.

“What kind do you want?”

Jack peeked up at Harry with a hopeful smile from between his legs. “Something flavoured?” he replied meekly.

Harry’s eyes widened, but he just nodded. “Through there,” he said, pointing into an alcove at the other end of the room, “under the cupboard.”

Jack pulled away slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, and loosened a few of his buttons on the way into Harry’s guest bath, which was more extravagant than his London flat even. There was an entire basket of different flavoured lubes underneath the sink, and Jack wondered if Harry really had occasion to use all of them, or if he just liked to be prepared.

Jack considered the varieties for a moment, and then settled on a safe cherry, deciding that even if it did taste like cough syrup it would be better than chocolate, which was also just unpleasant to consider on a psychological level when taking into account where he’d soon be putting it.

When he came back out of the washroom, Harry was no longer in the kitchen but in the sitting room instead, reclining on one of the absurdly large sofas with his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed neatly at the ankles. He spread them again as soon as Jack took a step toward him, in invitation.

“Find what you were looking for?” he asked in a sultry tone.

Jack could only nod, suddenly overcome by the sight in front of him. He moved forward a few paces, feeling as if he was being tugged along by some unseen compelling force. He wasn’t really sure what he was intending to actually do when he reached Harry; he had some idea, yeah, but beyond vague suggestions of how their bodies might look sprawled out together on the divan, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the specifics.

Jack wondered if Harry had any idea of what he had planned, or if he was just going with the flow. Jack was kind of hoping for the former, just so he’d have some help in moving things along. This was new territory for him, after all.

“How do you want me?” Harry asked as Jack moved closer.

“On your front, I think?” He’d planned to suck Harry off first back in the kitchen, but remembered that they were meant to be taking it slow. There was also the added benefit of having the freedom to look, to explore, without knowing that Harry was watching him all the while.

Harry rolled over obediently, his skirt flying up just enough to expose the soft curve of his arse as he moved. He peeked back at Jack from over his shoulder as Jack settled onto the soft behind him, kneeling carefully between his calves. “Do I at least get a hint?” he asked.

“What?”

“A hint,” Harry repeated. “Or is it a surprise?”

Jack looked from Harry to the bottle of flavoured lubricant in his hand. Apparently that hadn’t been enough of a hint on its own for Harry. “I thought I’d try eating you out,” he said bluntly, deciding that subtlety wasn’t exactly his best quality.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Try?”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve any idea if I’ll be any good at it.”

Harry laughed, his whole body shaking with it. He quieted down when Jack placed his hands on the back of Harry’s thighs, slowly sliding them upward to push the hem of his skirt toward his waist. Now faced with nothing but exposed flesh and a realm of unexplored possibilities, Jack felt suddenly overwhelmed, and a little panicked.

He paused with his hands gently cupping the underside of Harry’s buttocks, not really sure how to proceed further.

“Have you done this before?” Harry asked, glancing back at Jack once again to check his progress.

Jack wasn’t sure which part of the experience in particular Harry was referring to, so he decided to cover all his bases. “I mean, technically speaking no, but the process can’t be too different.”

Harry’s arched eyebrow suggested he thought otherwise. “I can talk you through it if you’d rather.”

Jack smiled bashfully. “Please.”

“Start with your fingers,” Harry directed, “and go slow, remember?”

“Right.” It all seemed simple enough, but when faced with the reality, Jack froze.

Harry turned again, sensing his hesitation. “I’m clean if you’re worried about that.”

“I’m not worried.” He was a little worried.

“You’ll do fine,” Harry reassured him. “Just—don’t overthink it.” He slumped down into the cradle of his arms crossed under his hands, waiting for Jack to continue.

Jack gently spread him open, staring down hesitantly at pink skin, freshly shaven. He breathed in deep through his nose and then exhaled through his mouth, blowing warm air against Harry’s sacrum and watching a trail of goose bumps blossoming across his skin in response.

Harry didn’t pressure Jack to continue, only shuddered a little, but Jack sort of wished he would just so he could find something to latch onto instead of wallowing in this performance anxiety that had unexpectedly seized him. He’d thought he’d never see the day.

Jack uncapped the bottle of lube, pouring a generous amount over his fingers and then trailing it up and down the cleft of Harry’s arse, pointedly avoiding his eventual destination in favour of massaging firm circles into the soft skin between his cheeks, eliciting a sharp moan when Jack finally allowed his fingers to drift closer.

Finally Jack leaned in to swipe his tongue over Harry’s hole, giving it a cursory pass, almost out of pure curiosity. It wasn’t unpleasant, and he quite enjoyed the breathy hiss that escaped Harry’s mouth when he dove back in for round two. The taste was better than cough syrup, if still a bit plasticky and artificial, and Jack allowed himself to mouth around the rim of Harry’s arsehole with more vigour, feeling himself hardening in his suit trousers with every gasp and moan emanating from the body underneath him.

Suddenly, a thought popped into his head and Jack paused, pulling back ever so slightly to take in the sight of Harry’s arse, kiss-bitten and wrecked, gleaming with the slick lubricant that still filled Jack’s senses.

“Cherry Styles,” Jack muttered to himself before giggling.

Harry glanced back at him sharply. “If you don’t make me come in the next five minutes,” he warned, “I’m kicking you out.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

“I have,” Jack reminded him, before ducking down again to pick up right where he’d left off, this time re-introducing two of his fingers and licking alongside as he curled them inside, careful stretching and probing in equal measure.

He didn’t care about the mess anymore, not with Harry bucking furiously against his fingers, and nose, and tongue, grinding against the sofa until finally he went slack with a strangled groan followed by an airy sigh.

Jack moved back just far enough to grab Harry’s shoulder and flip him over onto his back—for which he fully intended to apologise later—before wrestling first with his trouser fly and then the buttons on Harry’s chiffon blouse, giving himself barely enough time to pull his dick out of his pants before he was coming all over the butterfly tattoo on Harry’s stomach.

Jack sat back against Harry’s knees and struggled to catch his breath, staring at the strands of white coating Harry’s abdomen with a strange mixture of fascination and disgust. He leaned forward, not quite sure yet if he was going to make good on the impulse to lick his own come off of Harry’s skin, and then hesitated.

“You can kiss me,” Harry said, misinterpreting the gesture.

Jack flicked his eyes up to meet Harry’s. “Are you sure?” He didn’t think he would feel the same if their positions had been reversed.

“Yeah. Want you to.” Harry still sounded blissed out, barely coherent, and Jack couldn’t say no to him. He darted forward, mashing their mouths together gracelessly, biting at Harry’s bottom lip when he tried to pull away. “Maybe I’ll get a cherry tattoo next,” Harry breathed against Jack’s mouth, blinking up at him dreamily as he licked his own lips.

Jack frowned. He couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a joke or not. “I don’t want to be the reason you get a tattoo you regret.”

“I never regret anything,” Harry said, kissing him again with a smile.


End file.
